


Beating About The Bush

by JustAMouse



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAMouse/pseuds/JustAMouse
Summary: Harry is a porn star. Nick is here to help.





	Beating About The Bush

**Author's Note:**

> Because I said I wouldn't mind reading a story in which Nick is Harry's fluffer.

The first time Nick meets Harry, he can’t think of a single thing to say, which is both a) completely unprecedented, and b) perfectly acceptable, since very little conversation seems to be required of him. In fact, after their introductions, Harry simply walks into the dressing room they’ve made for him in one corner of the studio with drapes and curtain rods, shrugging on a floral silk dressing gown as he goes. 

Nick watches him disappear behind the black curtains, then turns and glances at the PA, who raises one sharp eyebrow and covers the microphone on her headset. “Er. I guess I’ll—” He nods his head off set and scampers after Harry, trying not to look too closely at the naked girl lounging on the leather sofa playing Splashy Dots on her phone. 

There’s nothing to really knock on once he gets to Harry’s dressing area. Feeling as awkward as it’s possible to feel when you’ve been hired to make sure a bloke’s dick doesn’t get too soft so he can be filmed banging a series of hot girls, Nick clears his throat loudly and calls out, “Er. Um. Mr. Styles?” 

Harry pokes his head out from between the curtains, nearly braining Nick in the process. Nick startles, stumbling back and knocking into a girl passing by and carrying an armload of lube. She squeaks and grabs Nick’s arm, her nails digging into his flesh. Half a dozen industrial sized bottles of Anal-Ese clatter to the floor in slow motion, and Nick watches in a mute horror as his mind helps him to a far too realistic flash of images: him slipping in the lube, falling, breaking his neck, and dying an agonizing, humiliating death on a porn set. 

Before it can happen, warm hands wrap around his shoulders, steading him and keeping him on both feet. 

“You all right?”

He glances back over his shoulder to find Harry just behind him, saving him from his lube-related death. 

“’course,” Nick says, and thinks about just sinking through the floor and straight to hell. “Ta for that.” 

He forces himself to straighten up and nearly knees Harry in the face in the process, since he chooses exactly that moment to kneel down to help collect what has to be an excessive amount of lube for one porn set. Honestly, how many arses can one man fuck? 

Her arms reloaded, the aide hustles away, leaving Nick with a burning face and absolutely no where to put his hands. He tries to shove them in his pockets, but there are women’s jeans and they don’t have pockets. He winds up just skidding his palms down his thighs, then flapping his arms once like a penguin and slamming them back into his legs. 

Harry’s mouth twitches. He’s watching Nick with a look that Nick couldn’t identify if he wanted to, and he really, really doesn’t want to. “Nick,” Nick says, shoving his hand forward. “Nick Grimshaw.” 

“Right,” Harry says. He takes Nick’s hand in his. “We just met.” 

“Right. No, of course we did. Soz. Um. So. Can I…uh…do anything for you?” 

It takes Harry a long time to answer, stood there in with pink flowers splashed all over the scrap of fabric wrapped around his torso and stopping midway down his thighs. Nick makes himself not look at them. Harry’s thighs are an entire meal. Nick could feast for days. 

He wants to look somewhere else—anywhere else—but Harry’s got him caught in his green eyes, and Nick is powerless to do anything but stand helplessly and gawk at him. 

He’s going to be sacked. He’s abso-bloody-lutely about to get sacked. 

“I wouldn’t say no to a bottle of water,” Harry says at length. “Would you mind?” 

“Water?” 

“Water,” Harry repeats, miming drinking from a bottle. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Nick says automatically. “Course. Water. On it.” 

He hustles over to the craft services table and snags a bottle of tepid water, then crosses back to Harry’s dressing area. The naked girl is still being extremely naked on the couch. She’s got a hot cocoa from somewhere, and it sharing it with the girl who had the armload of Anal-Ese, the tubes of lube in a discarded pile at their feet. 

He pokes his head through the curtains of Harry’s dressing area and shoves the bottle of water at him. “Uh, water?” 

“Thank you so much,” Harry says in a voice far too earnest to belong to a porn star in a floral robe. “Come on in.” 

Nick steps in and hands Harry the bottle. He uncaps the bottle and takes a long, deep pull, his throat working as he swallows. Nick has to look away and clear his throat. 

Right, he thinks. No point beating about the bush. “I’m…not really that kind of assistant, you know?” 

Harry lowers the bottle and frowns. He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “No?” 

“No,” Nick says. “I’m more the…you know.” His face burns hot. “The other kind.” 

“The other kind.” 

“For if you need assistance. With, you know.” He gestures at the general region of Harry’s dick. “Staying…ah. Prepared. Ready, as it were. For the shoot.” 

“Oh,” Harry says evenly, and Nick can’t tell if that’s just his voice, or if he’s having a laugh at Nick’s expense. Something about him makes Nick think it’s the latter. 

Then Nick looks up, and catches Harry’s gaze, and there’s something bright and sparkling there, something inviting Nick to share in the joke. There’s something in Harry that Nick just… 

He exhales and rolls his eyes—at himself, at Harry, at the whole situation, really. “So,” he says. “Do you need any assistance with your dick or what?” 

Harry barks out a laugh, throwing his head back, then looking at Nick with glittering eyes. His pink mouth is spread in a grin that does terrible things to Nick’s head. 

“Sure,” Harry says. He sets his water on the nearest surface and goes for the tie of his roble. “Come on, Nick Grimshaw. Assist me.”

**Author's Note:**

> come play over here if you'd like: https://justamousethings.tumblr.com/


End file.
